The Sword of My Soul
By Marcus Dwemer '' '' Drogue, Rogue. Arab beauty. Special Heir. Jump up-down. Slice like an Arab Ninja. What is the blade? Sharp point with Arab Brittle. Separate from the end. Muller Tick-Tock. Poison the Tyrant. Bomb the Oppressors And, swordplay. The blessing from the gods; The stares of my allies. I fight to help the flawed. I kill the ones who take my prize, And look deep into my enemy's eyes. And if they ever try to be restored, I will kill them with my iron sword The blade the Rose a dance entwined Honey dews smear and gleam to shine Thrusts and parries deep Rose depth Scents unleashed battles heady wine Succumbs this rose penetrated blade Unfurled she weeps sweet petals tasted Her bud erect ,raw of blades sharp touch The Sword , The Rose , this skirmish sated. I never thought you were the type of guy to buy drugs, you never even have milk with your cereal. I wish I hadn't known about your double-life, At least try to make one of them good. You have no right, Going by your first name under the sun, and your middle name under the moon. I find myself wanting to, protect the world, save those from evil, stop sick disgusting people. I want to rid this world of its sick desires, I want to destroy you, I want to kill you, you who are scared of my words. My words may scare you but you should be terrified of my swords, And I’ll swear by forty swords If a sword is what will appease you “SWORDS!” I’ll shout with mock obscenity, “Oh, swords!” And you’ll wordlessly curse me through pinched eyes And you’ll inform me that I am not a jester And that you are not my mother, nor my caretaker. But I swear, (swords!) Like a puppet master, like a ventriloquist You’ve got me speaking in idioms A foster home, I’ve adopted your character And, doing so, determined your actions foolish And you the fool and jester. The wolves are at my table I offer them food They are hungry The wolves are at my throat I smile at them They are just joking The wolves are at my window I am in pieces They are satisfied So This is the final battle ground, This is where my heart settles in the soil. Where the silver swords clash And rich blood seeps into a crimson soaked ground. Where the darkening night, Gives way to truth And a sorrow washes over the population. Where a cry filled with rage and regret fill every corner of our minds. I carry the burning sword of my soul, Ready to strike upon my enemies. Orcs and goblins, trolls and wolves, ninjas and burglars. I cut them all down into little pieces. I left a bloody mess In my path. I carry the sword of my soul, ready to defend God’s light. This is the final battle ground Where we shall last forever Having loved only once And Cried so many times. Buried with the blood of our enemies, Staying forever in a memory of violence. Our hearts shall never truly find the light. Swords clash Sparks fly Turmoil ensues Let us stop this now Before it kills us all. Silver seam dream locked in liquid sunshine Swords into ploughs The Dove of Peace Peace brothers/sisters My soul is a sword. This life is my fire. My choices are the hammer. I will cut through the veil, I will reveal the truth. I carry the burning sword of my soul, Striking at the evil ones. Rapists, burglars, molesters, Murderers and liars. I cut them all down, I chop off Their heads. They ask me for mercy, but there is no mercy. And I’ll swear by forty swords If a sword is what will appease you “SWORDS!” I’ll shout with mock obscenity, “Oh, swords!” And you’ll wordlessly curse me through pinched eyes And you’ll inform me that I am not a jester And that you are not my mother, nor my caretaker. But I swear, (swords!) I swear that my mother has never hatefully condemned me for making light of a situation Never folded her face into contorted revolt at my weak attempts to mend a fractured conversation. cold hands tired eyes tattered torn never died never born nothing to lose nothing to gain just bleak mundane no thoughts My soul is a sword. This life is my fire. My choices are the hammer. I will cut through the veil, I will reveal the truth. Though time never stills And we have little frills, My feelings will always endure And though truer, Are your words Less daggers more swords, Don't you think That if I could I would sink, Into your eyes Pretty lies, Every wink of your lashes Whips to my back, and ashes Piling up from the fires Every time my heart aspires, To be next to you My enemies see my burning sword, they run away in fear. Poor fools, they cannot escape my anger. I run and catch them. I take away their hands and legs. They beg for mercy, but they will get none. I carry the burning sword of my soul, ready to defend God’s Light. To the fingers that squeezed my throat Swing To the eyes that tore open my cotton shell Stick To the comments that bruised my confidence Sling To the absence at my self-sickened bedside not only does cancer cause the immune system to whither but the soul to float about the clouds in search for ambition to discover a better life, or a better place to be. not only does illness cause bones to shatter but hearts to reach their last beats surrendering blood for a manageable death or better type of sleep. not only does a person cause hearts to break but lives to cease and minds to be manipulated for stabbing memories or uncovered scars Moonlight feels like identical twins separated Nepthys and Isis shot across opposite ends of infinity Their mutual rhythm only sound sane with the other a rhyme to the reason because that is what art is. Since when has anything ever been set in stone without growing into another white lie floating in the mist of another form that couldn't be compared to this but rather another aspect in this There are no questions left to ask The High Priestess Everything I needed to howl at the moon pin balled back to me in the vacancy of desert skies! I carry this burning sword, the sword of my soul. I alone can wield this sword, it is my shiny thing. Do not mistreat me, or you will feel the sting Of this burning sword, the sword of my soul. Category:Poetry